Cold Thoughts
by Infinitys-End
Summary: Having an ice cube as a friend leaves a lot of time for thinking. ESB


Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars and all the characters within it. I'm just playing… I promise to put the toys away when I'm done.

Cold Thoughts

Han tugged on the stays anchoring the emergency shelter to the surrounding ice shelf, noting with grim satisfaction as they held tautly. Fastest shelter he'd ever built - after his taun-taun died, he knew he was going to follow the smelly brute if he didn't hurry it up a bit. Speaking of which...

Hurriedly he clambered over the drifting piles of snow to the dead mount's side. He nearly retched as he tugged the nearly frozen farmboy out of the protective warmth of the taun-taun's gut, but his spacer's constitution held. Luke looked horrible. He wasn't even shivering any more: never a good sign. Cursing fingers made clumsy by thick gloves and bone-chilling cold, Han tugged his friend, slowly, to the comparative safety of the shelter. The driving wind of the night-storm made movement difficult and draining, and the shelter seemed miles away as he dragged his friend's dead weight. It was only the fact that he did consider Luke a friend that he kept trying - he hadn't survived this long in the smuggling trade by being a soft touch. At least, not publicly. There were ways, he well knew, of lending a helping hand without allowing the recipients know who he was. Having a wookie as a co-pilot definitely helped his reputation of being a hard-core pirate. The Empire had thoroughly vilified the otherwise gentle species in their massive pro-human propaganda campaigns. Now, all Chewie had to do was flash some fang, and even the most unruly crowd would make way for them.

Sweet burning stars, he wished Chewie was here. The sturdy shelter suddenly looked light-years away. Using stubborn willpower, he hauled Luke over the frozen landscape with agonizing slowness. Ice was forming over Luke's clothing and skin as the fluid from the dead taun-taun was exposed to the harsh environment. Han grimaced - that wouldn't help Luke one bit. The kid needed to get warm before he lost fingers... or worse. He didn't think he could face Leia if he lost the kid. The princess was attached to Luke - only natural, Leia was one of the few people Luke knew in this galaxy, and Luke was one of the few people who cared about Leia the woman rather than Leia the figurehead. Some days, it seemed as if there wasn't a single person who could make a decision without running it by Leia first. Were the halls big enough? Should moral be bolstered again? What color should the uniforms be? Should they have nerf for dinner? Force, he wanted to strangle the Rebel brass for painting Leia as some sort of grand leader. Sure, she was a princess, but she was a woman first. Han smirked despite himself. And what a fine woman she was too. If only she wouldn't take herself so blasted seriously.

Oh, and never let it be said that he only hated the Rebel leadership for their attitude about Leia - as soon he could, he was going to leave their little party. He was tired of being their go-for boy, and getting only promises of future rewards for his pains. Why he continued to hang around, he had no idea. This need to become a martyr must be contagious. He laughed despite his situation. Who was he to knock their need to destroy themselves - he was going to be a permanent fixture on this ice cube soon enough.

He could have cried, if his face wasn't frozen, when he finally stumbled into the shelter on cold-numbed legs. Wearily, he stumbled back to the open flap and sealed them both in, blocking the increasingly fierce storm outside. He also managed to block out the last of the fading light, making the interior of the shelter pitch-black. Balancing Luke on one hip he fumbled at his waist for his glowrod, which spluttered to life with a hiss, lighting the shelter with a golden glow. He let Luke lie on the floor for a moment as he started up the space heater. Stripping off his bulky gloves in order to manipulate the controls, he cursed the machine out soundly when it failed to engage. Furious, weary, and at the end of his very short patience, he banged on the machine repeatedly. After all, it was one of Chewie's favorite repair techniques. To his surprise, the unorthodox technique worked. The squat heater flared to life, and a rush of warm air slid over his hands. For the first time that evening, he genuinely smiled. Something had gone right, at least.

When he turned back to Luke, he knew he from one look that he had to work fast. The kid was just barely breathing, he was deathly pale with blue lips, and he was so still that Han feared he was dead already. Thanking the fates that the cold had dampened the taun-taun stench, he stripped the young frozen pilot to his skivvies and shoved the stiff, unresponsive body into a thickly insulated sleeping bag. Han had been a spacer long enough that he knew basic treatment for hypothermia. When one was surrounded by cold space for most of one's life, it was only common sense to learn how to survive if life-support died. Quickly he propped his water containers near the heater and activated one of the self-heating food packs before stripping down as well. The insulation would do Luke no good if there was no heat to keep in the bag in the first place. Shivering in the bone-deep chill of the shelter's interior, he gingerly slid into the bag beside his frozen friend. Stars, but the kid was cold as space. He grimaced as Luke's cold flesh sucked heat away from his body just as fast as the storm outside had. Of course, just as he had finally worked out the best way to share body heat, the food pack beeped, signaling that it was ready to eat.

It was only emergency rations - warm, tasteless blocks of grayish material that looked barely palatable, but Han knew he'd have to keep up his own strength if he wanted to keep Luke alive. The uninspiring blocks were just as disgusting as he had imagined, but he forced them down. Food meant more energy, which meant more heat, which meant a live Luke. Most certainly, he wanted to keep Luke alive, if only because it would be a shame to waste so much piloting talent on this insignificant hunk of rock. Of course, he thought as he collapsed exhaustedly in the bag and cradled the warmed packet to his chest, there were other considerations. After all, with that storm outside, it would be nearly impossible to bury the young rebel. Planting the ice picks to hold the temporary shelter to the ice shelf it rested on had been tiring enough. Digging a hole to dump a body in would probably kill him. Of course, he could create a pyre sort of arrangement, with the 'saber as an ignition source and the spare blanket as tinder. It would also serve as a handy signal in case anyone ever got up the gumption to come looking for him. But then, how would he explain having the 'saber when the kid wasn't around… Han abruptly shook himself. Not only was this storm wearing him out, it was making him depressingly morbid. On the other hand, perhaps that was a result of sharing a sleeping bag with a man as cold as a corpse. Either way, it was definitely unhealthy. Doing his best not to taste the food, Han shoveled the gray mush down. He was inanely proud of the fact that he managed to swallow the entire meal without letting his gag reflex get the better of him. He'd forgotten just how foul those emergency packs could be. He stretched out to snag a few of the now warm water bottles and stuffed them in the bag as well. Hopefully, that would keep him from becoming as frozen as Luke. After a good deal of shifting about and arranging water bottles strategically to provide the most warmth, Han relaxed for a moment. This day had already been sithly long, and was only looking to get longer…

"Chewie, stop snoring." Han mumbled, only partially awake. The rumbling noise didn't stop, however. "Chewie. Chewie!" Han finally came awake with a snarl, and jerked back when the first thing he saw was Luke's glazed blue eyes staring back at him, only inches away from his face. Of course, being in the bag, he couldn't go far, and only succeeded to pull Luke along with him. Han didn't remember falling asleep, but he was very glad Luke hadn't managed to die while he took his little nap. The wind was still howling outside, with no sign of abating any time soon. Luke moaned, and Han recognized it as the sound he had mistaken for his co-pilot's snoring.  
"Luke? Luke, hey, hey kid, talk to me." Han shook the youth by the shoulders as firmly as he dared. He was pleased to note that the flesh beneath his fingers was pliable and human again, not that frightening ice-hard frigidness from earlier. Luke didn't respond intelligibly, but he did begin to shiver, which made Han impossibly glad. It was only a light tremor at first, starting in the core muscles, but Han knew that wouldn't last long. Luke's body was finally realizing what danger it was in, and attempting to save itself.

"About time." Han muttered sourly to hide his relief as he extracted himself from the bag and began packing the remaining hot water bottles around his shivering friend. Once he was sure that Luke was securely tucked in and unable to hurt himself further, he quickly found his own clothes and pulled them on hastily. In hindsight, it would have been wise to leave his clothes by the heater, instead of allowing them to from into what were effectively thin sheets of ice, but he didn't feel like indulging in self-abuse right now. He much preferred blaming the vaunted Rebel Alliance for their current predicament. While he set another emergency food pack to reheating, he mentally railed against the ignorant commanders who had sent out patrols on creatures that were evidently hunted on this planet, never mind not having protocols in place to make sure everyone was back inside the base well before the temperatures began dropping from merely cold to positively frozen. He made a mental note to come up with a particularly good insult for that deck officer who had tried to forbid him from riding out after Luke. Glumly he realized that when he got back, he'd probably have to make nice with all of Leia's command-happy friends if he ever wanted to get his ship off of this planet sometime before he died of old age. He brightened slightly as he imagined how grateful Leia would be for rescuing Luke from certain death. Surely a guy could get some credit for that, right?

The pack beeped, and mechanically Han ate the food without really tasting it as he watched Luke shiver. That kid was unbelievably lucky. No matter what that old guy had said, there was definitely luck in this universe. Han had experienced it many times – Lady Luck had gotten him the _Falcon_, after all. Since he was a good judge of luck or lack thereof, he felt justified in definitely deciding that Luke had a shipload of good luck following him about. That shot at the Death Star, being on the Death Star when Leia needed a rescue, shooting down two TIE fighters in his first dogfight, not getting his naïve arse shot on the missions he had gone on for the good of the Alliance, not dying in the desert in the first place… Han could only wish he had that sort of luck.

"Ya know kid, if you had only decided to come with me when I offered back there at Yavin, we wouldn't be in this mess. It'd just be me, you, Chewie, and nothing between us and the stars." He groused lightly as he scrapped up the last of the food in the pack. This stuff was beginning to grow on him. That, or his taste buds had frozen off. He was betting on the latter. Luke didn't reply beyond the low moans he had constantly been making since Han woke up. Han shrugged.

"Your funeral, Luke. As soon as I can swing it, I'm getting off this frozen hind end of nowhere. I've got a business to run, kid, and your precious rebellion isn't helping me any." Han pointed out with more than a touch of bitterness to his unresponsive friend. How many credits had he wasted on this pack of lunatics? Stars only knew why he kept coming back. It certainly wasn't to earn a quick credit, he couldn't even remember how high the bill was rising for past services given to these high-minded but poorly-funded nutcases. He looked up sharply when Luke didn't even moan in reply. When he focused on Luke, his gaze softened. The young pilot was finally asleep, a true sleep rather than that frozen comatose state he had been in when he had first found him. The high color in his cheeks might mean an onset of fever, but at least Luke was alive. Speaking of which...

Pulling out the second sleeping bag, he rolled it out on the other side of the heater so that both he and Luke could benefit from the heater's warmth. Just before he flicked off the glowrod, he paused to look at Luke again. He still couldn't believe he had found the kid so far off track, and in the beginnings of the storm as well. Han shook his head in disbelief. They'd never believe it back at base. Smiling ruefully, Han plunged the shelter back into darkness and listened to the storm outside for a long time before falling asleep.


End file.
